


Comfort Zones

by Imbecamiel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Gen Fic, Team, Tony's a lot better at being nice than people think sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1400503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imbecamiel/pseuds/Imbecamiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, you can swear if you want to. In fact, it might even be medically advisable, under the circumstances. Studies show that swearing when you’re injured actually increases your pain tolerance.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Zones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nef (Nefhiriel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefhiriel/gifts).



> Well, it has been a while since I've posted an Avengers story. I certainly haven't lost interest - my writing energy's just been eaten up by the demands of writing two original novels simultaneously. *g* I've reeeeally wanted to finish some of my WIPs, though, so I finally got this one wrapped up.
> 
> Written for this prompt: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/6021.html?thread=9621637t9621637

“You know, you can swear if you want to. In fact, it might even be medically advisable, under the circumstances. Studies show that swearing when you’re injured actually increases your pain tolerance.”

 

Steve turned his head slightly to fix Tony with a look of baffled incredulity. Which was, all things considered, a vast improvement over the grim, rigid self-control of a moment ago, but still far from ideal. Tony countered with the most innocent and sincere expression he could muster.

 

“No, really, Scout’s honor. It was an extremely scientific and well-documented study and everything. Not making things up, I promise.”          

 

Steve huffed, a breathless approximation of amusement. “I don’t—” He broke off with a gasp, squeezing his eyes shut as he tensed.

 

His stomach clenching in sympathy despite himself, Tony opted to brush off whatever Steve had meant to say (“ _I don’t believe you were ever a Boy Scout”, “I don’t see how anyone even came up with a stupid study like that, much less got funding for it”, “I don’t care what the studies say, I’m just gonna go on being my stupid, stoic, heroic self because I’m_ Captain America, _and that’s_ What I Do, _even when I’ve just had a building dropped on me”…_ ) in favor of continuing his attempts at persuasion.

 

“I know you don’t really make a habit of swearing, but hey, that’s actually a point in your favor as it turns out, because people who don’t swear much on a daily basis are the ones who get the most benefit out of it. Effect’s not as diluted, or something like that. So go you, good job saving it up for a rainy day, but I think you can afford to let loose and splurge a little now. I’ll even promise not to tell, if you want, so your nice, shiny reputation won’t get tarnished. Secret’s safe with me.”

 

“Thanks.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile.

 

“But still no go?”

 

“’T’much work,” Steve mumbled.

 

Okay, when swearing was too much work, things were _bad._ Tony wasn’t even sure it was _possible_ to be so far gone you couldn’t work up the energy to swear without having, I don’t know, punctured a lung or something. But it wasn’t like Steve worked out his swearing muscles on a daily basis, so who knows, maybe they’d atrophied.

 

Also, now that he thought of it, a nicked lung wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibilities, here. He tried to remember if he had any idea what the signs of that might be, but came up blank, other than figuring it probably involved coughing up blood and a lot of eventual _not breathing._ Steve’s breaths were hitching and uneven, but he didn’t seem to be struggling too much, so… they were probably okay on that score, at least for the moment. Though he remembered hearing that it was possible for broken ribs to result in a punctured lung, and Steve definitely had a few of those, so it’d be a good idea to keep an eye out. Not that he could do anything if it did happen, other than _panic completely._

 

Yeah, not helping. Time to find something else to focus on. 

                 

“Well, okay then. If you’re going to be lazy and make me do all the work…. They do say that laughing helps too. Endorphins and all that. I can always break out my standup routine, if you want.”

 

“Seen it.”

 

“What?” Tony blinked. He was pretty sure he would’ve remembered that. “When?”

 

“Youtube.”

 

Well, that was just _unfair._ “It’s much better in person, believe me. Plus, I’ve never tried it sober before. Think about it—probably a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

 

Eyes still closed, Steve made a vaguely negative sound, which Tony took to mean, _Thanks, but I’m good._ Which was very impressive and stoic and all, even if his current condition was so far from any definition of “good” or “fine” that it practically wasn’t even in the same _dictionary_ anymore _._

 

Easing up, Tony lifted his hand to check the bunched-up cloth (which had once been Tony’s third-favorite t-shirt) he’d been pressing against the wound in Steve’s side, only mildly relieved to find that the blood wasn’t soaking through—yet. It wasn’t as reassuring as it might have been, because the man had just been impaled by a _piece of rebar_ , and Tony had no idea if the metal in his abdomen had gone all the way through and out the back. If it had, and he was bleeding from an exit wound as well, then all his best attempts at applying pressure to the entry wound probably weren’t doing much good.

 

It might not do much good anyway, if they didn’t get out of here soon. He wasn’t sure exactly what organs were located just under the ribcage on one’s left side, but he was pretty sure they were _important_ ones.

 

Steve himself didn’t appear particularly concerned about his prospects at the moment. Although—seeing the way his tense expression was smoothing out, Tony realized with a jolt of alarm that that was probably more attributable to impending loss of consciousness than to any attempt to preserve a stupid tough-guy image.

 

“Hey— _hey,_ stay with me here, Steve.”

 

Steve’s eyes flew open and he jumped, startled by his sharper tone. He bit back on a yelp when the motion tugged at his injuries. When Steve’s eyes focused on him again, Tony gave him his best approximation of an encouraging smile.

 

“No sleeping on the job, Cap.”

 

“What job?” Steve mumbled. “Battle’s over.”

 

And hey, yay for Cap being oriented enough to remember that.

 

It was true enough. The battle against the AIM drones had been all but finished and they’d been rounding up the stragglers when Steve had been forced to take off after a particularly recalcitrant ‘bot that was wreaking havoc in the lower levels of a nearby parking ramp. None of them had thought anything of it, until JARVIS had alerted Tony to the fact that a blow from another ‘bot crashing into it had placed the structure in imminent danger of collapse—and Steve was still inside it.

 

Even as he was activating the com to tell Steve go _get out of there, pronto,_ he’d been scanning the structure and he’d known that there wasn’t enough time. Not for Steve to extricate himself from the fight and run the distance required to get himself clear of falling debris.

 

But he’d been close—close enough to fly in and help Cap finish off the ‘bot. Close enough to see the robot’s death throes send it reeling into a couple of very important load-bearing columns. Close enough to attempt to fly them both free. Close enough to be caught in the inevitable collapse.

 

Close enough to be stuck here, now, with a badly injured Steve, who hadn’t had the Iron Man armor for protection when the building came down around them. He still wasn’t sure exactly _how_ badly injured Steve was, beyond the obvious, because to begin with he’d been too busy getting him fully aware and responsive while attempting to stop the blood flow from his side. There were definitely bruises and smaller cuts in plenty, probably a concussion, for all he knew there might be a handful of broken bones as well, but at least nothing was jutting out at an entirely unnatural angle. As far as he could tell, the minor issue of rebar impalement was his most concerning injury.      

 

“Come on JARVIS, give me some good news here.” He glanced over to where he’d set the Iron Man helmet on a chunk of rubble beside him, supplementing the arc reactor as illumination for the scene.

 

_“Unfortunately I have not been able to reestablish communication with the outside world, Sir.”_ JARVIS spoke through the suit’s speakers. _“It appears the debris is too thick to allow signals to penetrate.”_

 

“Have you tried—”

 

_“I have exhaustively tested our current options, Sir. I will continue my attempts periodically, but until the situation changes there is nothing left_ to _try.”_

 

He supposed the gentle reprimand was not entirely undeserved. “Of course you have, J. I don’t doubt you. I just…” He blew out a breath. “What about Steve? How’re things looking?”

 

_“Captain Rogers’ vital signs appear to be stabilizing, although shock remains a concern._ _Given the location of the injury, the pancreas, kidney, and large intestine are the most likely organs to have been compromised by the puncture wound. However, without the ability to connect to external databases the Iron Man suit is not equipped to perform the in-depth scans necessary to determine—“_

 

“Yeah, I know.” Tony sighed. “Any first aid tips?” _How do I fix this?_ was what he really wanted to ask, but people… people were messy, and a whole lot harder to pull off a miraculous repair job on than a machine.

 

Sure enough, JARVIS’ tone was faintly apologetic as he replied. _“Given your current lack of medical equipment, there is very little to be done without risk of further aggravating his injuries. Controlling blood loss and ensuring that he remains conscious and responsive are the highest priorities.”_

 

Well, that much he could do. Probably. Tony shifted to better maintain pressure on the wound, his arms threatening to go numb.

 

It would’ve been a bit easier with the augmentation of the suit, but – while the lower half still protected his knees from the sharp rubble underneath – he’d had to remove the upper half of the armor in order to get his t-shirt off. It wasn’t like he was going to take the time to maneuver back into the armor before tending to Steve’s injuries, even if the thin long-sleeved shirt he’d been wearing underneath the t-shirt didn’t afford much protection against potential falling debris. And anyway, while the armor would’ve kept his upper body from getting tired as quickly, it did lack a certain… well, human touch, in dealing with an injured teammate. He felt a little cowardly, longing for the distance and detachment it would’ve provided anyway.

 

Inside the suit, he was Iron Man: focused, in control, able to handle whatever was thrown his way. Without it, he was Tony Stark: genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, who could build a robotic suit of armor in a cave with a box of scraps… but who was not very good at dealing with other people’s medical emergencies, and even less good at actually interacting with badly-injured and please-God-not-dying teammates.

 

Steve’s eyes were drifting closed again. Tony hastily freed up a hand to tap his cheek, wincing when the motion left behind bloody fingerprints. Not that there wasn’t plenty of blood and dirt on Steve’s face already. Still, it did the job – Steve’s eyes were open again. He fixed Tony with a look of weary inquiry.

 

“You want to give me a status report, Cap?”

 

Steve gave him a perplexed look. Tony sighed.

 

“How are you feeling?” he clarified.

 

“Hurts.”

 

An accurate answer, he was sure, and elegant in its simplicity, but a little less informative than he’d like.

 

“Other than your side, what’s the worst of it?”

 

Steve took a few seconds to ponder the question, his brow furrowing. “Head, shoulder… leg,” he answered, slowly.

 

 Given the blood on his temple, the pain in his head was self-explanatory enough. As for his shoulder—the uniform was a bit torn up on one side. Likely something had struck him a glancing blow. He might have a broken collarbone, but since the only blood was from relatively minor scrapes there wasn’t anything to be done beyond being careful when the time came to move him.

 

His ankle, now… Tony twisted, reaching out to turn the Iron Man helmet down to light up the gloom near Steve’s feet.

 

Ah. That would explain it. He winced in sympathy at sight of the chunk of concrete sitting on the lower part of Steve’s left leg. Yeah, that’d hurt. It probably wasn’t heavy enough to really crush the leg, but it’d definitely be badly bruised and a break was not unlikely. Again, if it wasn’t an open break bleeding extensively—which he really, really hoped he wouldn’t have to see—there wasn’t much he could do in the way of first aid.

 

He could at least relieve the pressure, though, which might make it hurt a bit less.

 

Taking Steve’s left hand, he guided it to replace his own hand on the cloth around the piece of rebar. Steve’s breath hitched and he winced at the movement.

 

“Keep pressing down. I’m going to have a look at your leg.”

 

Tony kept his hand on Steve’s until he was sure the other man was alert enough not to let it slide away as soon as he turned around.

 

To his overwhelming relief, the chunk of rubble proved to be blessedly free of complicating factors. It was fairly hefty, yes, but loose, not supporting any other pieces of potentially-important debris that might send a catastrophic collapse down on their heads if it was breathed on the wrong way.

 

The piece of concrete was tilted at a bit of an angle—one end resting on the ground, the center pinning Steve’s leg, and the smaller end jutting out over Steve’s right leg, about an inch above it. Lucky stroke, that. A few inches over and both of Steve’s legs would’ve taken the full weight of the block. As it was, the fact that the largest end was resting on the ground kept the worst of the weight off Steve’s left leg as well. Bad as this situation was he’d take any bit of good he could get.

 

Standing as upright as he could in the cramped space—which was to say, not very—Tony grabbed the end of the concrete piece with both hands. It was _heavy_ and he couldn’t get the kind of leverage he would’ve liked, but with a bit of grunting and heaving he was able to lift the end up off Steve’s leg and push it over backward, pivoting around the point where it rested on the ground until he could deposit it against another block sitting on the ground, safely out of the way.

 

Steve made a half-strangled noise as the shifting weight and increased blood-flow brought further pain.

 

“Sorry.”

 

Tony darted a glance back to make sure he wasn’t about to faint or lose his grip on the makeshift bandage. Steve’s eyes were squeezed shut and his body was rigid with the effort to work through the pain, but he seemed conscious enough for the time being.

 

Kneeling, Tony gingerly shifted the leg around a little to get a better look at it. The boot had done a decent job of protecting it, it seemed—though he didn’t want to remove it just now, for fear of aggravating a break or sprain. He’d have to keep an eye on it, though, if they were down here long…. Didn’t want the leg swelling enough to cut off circulation.

 

“Do you think it’s broken?” he asked.

 

When Steve didn’t react, Tony tapped his knee. That was enough to get him to crack his eyes open and lift his head a little, grunting in inquiry.

 

“Your leg—do you think it’s broken?” Tony reiterated.

 

Steve dropped his head back to the ground, his uninjured shoulder lifting in a half-shrug.

 

“Could be. I don’t know.”

 

“Lotta help you are,” Tony groused, moving back closer to Steve’s head.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Not exactly your fault, Cap. ” Sighing, Tony dropped into a crouch and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, we don’t know how long rescue’s going to take, and you’re not exactly in great shape, here. There’s a bit of a tunnel down that way,“ he nodded toward Cap’s feet. “It’s a tight squeeze, but I think it might open up further on. I’m gonna see how far I can get, try to find a way out—or at least get into radio contact with the outside. Any help we can give the cavalry from this side’ll hurry things up.”

 

“Yeah. Good plan.”

 

Despite his words, some brief flicker in Cap’s expression, there and gone again almost too quickly to see, unsettled Tony in a way he couldn’t quite pin down.

 

“You… um, gonna be okay here?”

 

Steve summoned up a weak smirk for him. “Think I can manage to lay here a few minutes without supervision.”

 

“Lay there _and_ keep pressure on that wound,” Tony reminded him. “I’m giving you _one job_ , here. Don’t let me down.”

 

“Yes _sir.”_

 

Tony _knew_ sarcastic comebacks. He could practically see the urge to toss him a mock salute cross Steve’s mind—but at the first twitch of his free hand the urge died with a pained wince, the movement pulling badly at his injured shoulder.

 

Picking up his helmet, Tony hesitated again. “Sorry I don’t have a light to leave you. I’ll need the helmet for comms, and I can’t exactly leave the reactor here…”

 

“I’m _fine,_ Tony.”

 

“Right. Okay. I’ll make it as quick as I can.”

 

Re-donning the rest of the armor was the work of only a few seconds—it would make him a bit less maneuverable, but protect him against any debris he might dislodge. Once ready, he didn’t stop to look back.

 

The “tunnel” he’d spotted proved to be tighter than it had at first appeared. There were a few tense minutes when he thought he might have to back out, take off the armor, and try again without the extra bulk. Fortunately, it didn’t come to that in the end. Pulling himself out into a wider space, he was finally able to stand more or less upright.

 

Activating his comm, he informed Steve, “Looks like I was right—things open up a bit here. Still not seeing daylight, though. Gonna have to go a bit further.”

 

The only response he received was the hiss of static.

 

“Come on, Steve. I _know_ you know how to work the comms.”

 

_“Thought y’ said I jus’ had to keep up the pressure.”_

 

Never had slurred words sounded so good.

 

“Thought _you_ were supposed to be good at multitasking,” he shot back.

 

_“’M tired…”_

Blood loss, his brain helpfully supplied.

 

“Yeah, well you get to lay there and rest while I do all the hard work here. Least you can do is entertain me.” Turning a sharp corner, he came up against…a dead end. “Oh come _on,”_ he groaned. “Really?”

 

Stepping closer, he ran his hands lightly over the ragged pieces of concrete. “Help me out here, J,” he said. “Anything I can move without disrupting the stability too much?”

 

JARVIS scanned the structure as requested, putting up the results on the helmet’s heads up display as they came in. It was… not promising. If there was no hope at all of rescue he might have chanced it as a last resort, but as it was… Not worth the danger, he reluctantly decided.

 

“No joy here, Cap,” he said. “I’m gonna retrace my route, see if there are any other weak spots I might be able to get through.”

 

He cursed under his breath as Steve once again failed to respond. How long had it been since he’d last spoken? He’d been too focused on the scans to notice that Steve had gone quiet again. 

                                                                                                                                                                                                     

“Steve!” he barked. “Don’t make me come back there. Wake up and answer your radio!”

 

He thought he heard a sound that might have been a hitching breath. Stilling, he all but held his own breath listening. Then—

 

_“Always the radio… You gonna promise t’ go dancing with me too?”_

The words were faint, difficult to make out. He’d thought that no response could be as alarming as the _lack_ of one, but maybe he was wrong. Steve sounded completely out of it. What was he even—ah. _That’s_ where his head was.

“Well, you know I’d love to, but I think Pepper might get a bit jealous. You know how it is…” he tried to play it off lightly.

 

He did _not_ want to be dealing with this kind of emotional fallout right now. Not ever, really. Soooo not his area.

 

Yeah, he’d heard the recording of that last conversation over the radio between Steve and Peggy Carter. It’d become iconic: the touching and dramatic final moments of Captain America, replayed in documentaries and newscasts on the major anniversaries of the crash. It had always made him squirm a little, and more so in retrospect now that Steve was actually _alive_. What should have been a man’s last moments to say a private goodbye to the woman he loved—or could have loved, if there’d been time for it to really develop into that—displayed for the world like the dramatic climax of some soap opera.

 

But even if it hadn’t been released to the public, Tony probably would’ve heard the recording more than once. Howard had certainly played it enough times. Wishing for some scrap of overlooked information to fuel his search, punishing himself for not succeeding, who could tell.

 

Steve hadn’t responded to his quip. It wasn’t exactly brilliant conversational material, but still.

 

“You with me, Cap?” he asked.

 

A soft sigh made the line crackle. Seconds stretched out in silence, then _—“’M so cold…”_ Steve murmured _. “Don’t want t’freeze again…”_

 

Tony’s gut knotted. Not good. Really, really not good.

 

“Hang on, Steve. I’m on my way back.”

 

As he turned to retrace his steps the com crackled again, feedback making him wince, but this time it wasn’t Steve’s voice that came through but another, made tinny by interference.

 

_“Stark?”_

 

“Romanov?” He froze. The connection fuzzed again with static. “JARVIS, see if you can clear the sound up at all here.”

 

_“Working on it, Sir,”_ came the reassuring, familiar response. A moment later the static was reduced to a faint buzz and Natasha’s voice came through more clearly.

 

_“—thought you might have been killed in the collapse. We’re working to get to you, but it’s slow going. Too much risk of setting off a chain reaction to let Hulk at it, so we had to wait for the equipment to get here before we could start.”_

 

“Yeah, things are pretty unstable, here. If we can avoid bringing the ceiling down on our heads— _again—_ I’d appreciate it.”

 

_“Is Cap with you?”_ Barton’s voice, this time.

 

“Er, not with me as in ‘right here beside me at this moment’—I thought I might be able to find a way out, but I’m just running into dead ends. But yeah, we were together when the place came down. Hey Steve, say hi to the nice people, hmm?”

 

The suit would act as a booster for the signal, so if he could hear the others Steve should be hearing the conversation as well. Steve wasn’t answering, though, even after he called his name a couple more times. Tony cursed.

 

_“Stark?”_ Natasha again. _“What’s wrong?”_

 

“Cap’s hurt pretty bad—took a piece of rebar to the left side. He was conscious and responding to me a minute ago, but I think he’s going downhill. Look—I’ve got to get back to him, but the coms weren’t working back there. Just… hurry, okay?”

 

_“Will do. We’ve got a lock on your position through the radio signal, but there’s too much interference to get Rogers’ with any accuracy. Where is he in relation to you?”_

 

“He’s… northeast, I think. I wasn’t exactly travelling in a straight line. JARVIS?”

 

_“Approximately thirty yards north-northeast of your current position, Sir,”_ the AI put in.

 

_“Got it,”_ Barton said. _“We’ll speed things along from this end as much as we can and have the EMTs ready to transport him as soon as we get to you.”_

Barton’s terse words were utterly professional, but Tony knew him well enough to read the worry behind his tone. He thought he heard Natasha “hurrying things along” in the background, but it was hard to make out what she was saying secondhand through Clint’s com.

 

Tony turned away to head back the way he had come. He was torn—worried for Steve, afraid that leaving him alone had been a bad idea. But it was almost physically painful to break off communications with the outside world now that he’d managed to contact them, and… more afraid of what he might find when he got back to Steve than he wanted to admit.

 

But that was more cowardly than he’d allow himself to be. If Steve _was_ alive, then he was as much in need of company as of the scraps of first aid that Tony could provide down here.

 

When he finally turned the bend and caught sight of Steve, his heart stuttered over itself for a second. He looked… dead. His hand had fallen to the side, no longer holding pressure on his wound, and he didn’t appear to be breathing.

 

He stumbled on loose debris in his hurry, falling more than lowering himself to his knees beside Steve.

 

“JARVIS—“

 

But even before he could finish asking JARVIS to run a scan, to assure him that what his eyes were telling him wasn’t true, Steve’s chest hitched and rose in a shallow breath. Tony gasped and flipped up his faceplate.

 

“Steve!”

 

The only response he received was from JARVIS.

 

_“Captain Rogers is unconscious and his condition appears to be deteriorating as he goes further into shock. Heartbeat and respiration are weak but steady, better than might be expected given his condition.”_

 

That was…something. Not much, but something. Removing his gauntlets, Tony reached out with shaking fingers to resume pressure on the dirty rag that had once been his t-shirt. He tapped the side of Steve’s face with his other hand. His skin was cold, colder than any living person he could remember touching. If it weren’t for the continued rise and fall of his chest….

 

“Hey, come on Steve. Don’t check out on me now…”

 

Steve sucked in a deeper breath and let it out in a groan, his eyes skimming his surroundings with a glazed confusion that suggested he wasn’t yet fully awake. Whether it was the begging or the pain of pressure on his injury that dragged him back toward consciousness Tony hardly cared.

 

“ _There_ you go. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me again.” He glanced down at the hand he was using to hold pressure on the wound. The blood was starting to soak through the cloth. “Give you one job, and you can’t even manage that,” he muttered. “Least you can do is keep me company if you’re gonna make me do all the work.”

 

Steve mumbled something that might as easily have been an apology or a complaint. He was looking a little more focused, though still more confused than Tony liked.

 

“Hey, you actually awake here, Sleeping Beauty, or…?”

 

“Y’came back.” Steve’s voice was painful just to listen to, rasping and hoarse.

 

“Um, yeah.” He frowned. “I wasn’t exactly… Did you think I wouldn’t?”                                         

 

“Thought… I don’t know. I was… so cold.”

 

Okay yeah, shock tended to result in confusion, so Steve’s words probably didn’t really _mean_ anything, but still. He knew he could come off as a bit self-centered and maybe sometimes less than dependable, but he couldn’t help being a bit hurt that Steve would think he might just waltz off and… oh. _Oh._

 

He’d felt for himself how cold Steve’s skin was, and awake now he was starting to tremble—though that could be from pain as much as the shock-induced cold. Or, well… fear?

 

He knew well enough that Steve Rogers was very human underneath that suit, but it was still a bit strange to think of The Legendary Captain America as being afraid.

 

But looking at him now, he was struck not by the heroic figure he’d heard so much about as a child, or the obnoxiously holier-than-thou Good Little Soldier who’d rubbed him the wrong way when they’d first met, nor even by the decent man who was exactly the comrade you’d want by your side in a fight—but still a little out of his depth when it came to the mysteries of modern life.

 

No, what struck him was how _young_ Steve looked. It was easy to forget, most of the time, but he was only—what—in his early twenties? Not much more than a teenager, really. He’d probably still be in college if he’d been born in this century instead of transplanted here by way of 70 years in the deep freeze.

 

And right now he wasn’t the Great and Experienced Leader of Men—he was confused, and hurting, and scared of dying cold and helpless and alone. _Again._

 

He could relate to those feelings a lot more than he was comfortable thinking about.                                   

 

Clearing his throat, he said with awkward self-consciousness, “Yeah, well. I’m back now, and I’m not gonna be leaving again. And hey, good news—rescue’s on the way!”

 

“…team?” Steve murmured.

 

“Yep. I made radio contact with them, and they should be getting through to us soon. So just… stick with me a little longer, okay? The end’s in sight. They’ll get us out of here, and get you to a hospital with people who actually know what they’re doing to take care of you.”

 

What was not in sight for Steve, he realized belatedly, was any promise of relief from pain. No one had yet found a painkiller that would make much of an impression on a Steve’s serum-enhanced metabolism. Sometimes, being a Super Soldier really _sucked._

 

Steve, at least, seemed heartened by the news. He was more focused, and to Tony’s eyes appeared to be dragging himself back to full alertness through force of will. 

 

“S’good.” Steve sucked in a shuddering breath. “Ev’ryone… ‘kay?”

 

“Yeah. Everyone’s fine.”

 

Steve went still, giving him a heavy-lidded, suspicious glare. Apparently his casual tone was not quite as casual as it was supposed to be.

 

“Okay, fine, I was a little preoccupied. So sue me.” Tony threw up his hands. “I forgot to ask, so no, I don’t know for _certain_ that no one’s hurt, but I did talk to both Clint and Natasha, and I’m pretty sure one of them would’ve said something if anything big enough to seriously phase Hulk or Thor had happened. So _relax,_ okay? You’re in bad enough shape as it is without making things worse for yourself.”

 

Steve grunted. If he wasn’t happy, he was at least satisfied that there wasn’t some ominous reason for Tony to avoid answering. He pulled in another deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before slowly releasing it. It would have been more of a relief if his intense focus and carefully controlled breathing didn’t speak to the effort that calm and stillness were currently costing him.

 

“Pain getting worse?” he asked.

 

Steve made a noise that was supposed to be reassuring, but which came out a little strangled. Tony had to force himself to stop grinding his teeth in frustration at his own helplessness.

 

After a few more measured breaths, Steve mumbled, “Think ’m gonna throw up.”

 

Steve might not feel up to swearing, but that didn’t stop Tony from doing so, and enthusiastically. “Okay, that—that would be bad. If you start choking right now, I can’t exactly turn you or anything.” Not to mention the fact that it would _really hurt,_ but he didn’t exactly have to tell Steve that.

 

_“Know that,”_ Steve gritted out through clenched teeth, then stopped to swallow convulsively.

 

“Sorry,” Tony grimaced. “Sorry. I’ve got plenty of experience dealing with nausea, but pretty much every trick I know requires access to stuff that’s a little out of reach at the moment.”

 

If he even had _water_ to offer it would be something. Or fresh air, a cool breeze…. Well—it might not be _fresh,_ but he could at least manage something. Steve’s face scrunched up in confusion as he cracked open his eyes to squint at the hand waving in front of his face. Tony shrugged.

 

“Closest we’re gonna get to air conditioning at the moment, I’m afraid.”

 

Steve grunted dubiously. Apparently the fanning helped, though, because the long breath he released a minute or so later was unmistakably relieved, even if his jaw hadn’t unclenched itself.

 

“Soon as we get out of here, Bruce and I are going to take another look at finding some kind of painkiller that’ll actually work for you,” Tony promised. “There’s got to be _something…”_

 

Not that anything they might find would be viable in time to be of much use this time around. But there would be a next time. There was always a next time. And Cap, standing as he did as a shield between the bad guys and the rest of the world—and more specifically between the bad guys and his teammates—was all too often in the line of fire. He bounced back so quickly it was easy to buy it when he downplayed his injuries. To forget just how miserable that interim had to be.

 

Tony shook himself.

 

“In the meantime,” he went on with forced cheerfulness, “the offer still stands.”

 

“Off’r?” Steve’s forehead creased. Either he was drifting again or Tony was doing that “random leaps of logic” thing people kept getting on him about.

 

“The whole swearing thing,” he explained.

 

Steve gave him a rather blank look, which he interpreted as, _“Are you_ still _going on about that?”_ Although, admittedly, it might as easily have meant _“I am trying really hard not to pass out right now and don’t have the brainpower to deal with this.”_

 

“Y’ jus’ want video f’r YouTube.”

 

It took him a couple of seconds to parse the slurred words.

 

“Hey, I’m impressed, Cap. You’ve really been taking those ‘Managing your Image as a 21st-century Celebrity’ lessons to heart. But I _did_ promise not to tell. As sensational a story as it would be, I won’t even put it in my super secret not-to-be-published-until-after-my-death diary.”

 

_“Super secret diary? What are you, Stark, a twelve-year-old girl?”_

 

Never in his life had he been so glad to hear Natasha’s voice over the radio. There was a brief crackle of static and then Clint spoke.

 

_“More importantly—am I in this diary? ‘Cause I’ve gotta tell you, if you’ve been writing secrets about Cap and not me, I’m gonna be hurt.”_

 

“Oh, there are whole _chapters_ about you, Hawkboy, don’t you worry.”

 

Tony’s smirk quickly disappeared at a muffled _thud_ from above, which sent a cascade of dust raining down on them. He moved quickly to ensure Steve’s head and upper body would be shielded by his armor, in case any larger chunks came down, but there was nothing he could do prevent him from inhaling the dust. Steve’s attempts to smother his coughs were painful just to listen to.

 

“Uh, guys… You remember what I said about not bringing the roof down on our heads?” Tony looked up as a second shower of dust fell. “JARVIS, how do things look?”

 

_“There has been some shifting, but thus far the structure is remaining stable,”_ came the AI’s reassuringly confident reply.

 

_“We’re almost through,”_ Natasha informed him. _“How are the two of you holding up?”_

 

 He glanced down at Steve’s tight expression. “Peachy. It’d be a little slice of heaven down here, if it weren’t for the distinct lack of alcohol.”

 

_“Wait, so the suit_ doesn’t _have some kind of mini bar installed?”_ Clint’s voice sounded suspiciously gleeful.

 

“Believe me, I have been putting a considerable amount of thought into correcting that oversight.”

 

_“Not until I collect you don’t. Sitwell owes me twenty bucks now,”_ Clint gloated.

 

“I don’t know whether to be touched at your faith in my judgment or mad that you guys have been taking bets on whether or not I’ve been flying drunk.”

 

Actually, it was pretty much impossible to be really annoyed when Steve’s mouth was twitching in genuine amusement. Steve’s breathing had taken on a slight wheeze after all that coughing, but seeing as A. he didn’t seem to be in immanent danger of severe respiratory distress B. they’d be getting out of here soon and C. there was absolutely nothing Tony could do about it in the meantime, he’d decided that a bit of distraction would be more helpful than asking him how he was doing.

 

_Not dissing my standup skills_ now _, are you?_ he thought proudly.

 

_“How about thanking me for helping get you out of there?”_ Clint returned.

 

“Yeah, well, maybe if I could actually see the light at the end of the tunnel on that one—” he broke off as, with a loud grinding sound, the rocks to their left started to shift. “Ah. There it is.”

 

Things moved quickly after that. Rescue workers moved rubble from the outside, with the assistance of heavy machinery, Thor, and the Hulk. He went over to the entrance to advise and help from within—though, not having anywhere to put loosened pieces inside their space, he was limited in what he could do.

 

Soon there was room enough for the paramedics to come through. Natasha followed close behind.

 

He stayed back to allow the paramedics space, Natasha stepping back beside him after getting a good look at Steve. Her expression was serene with the particular brand of expressionlessness that meant she was very worried. (You got to know these things about teammates, after enough time spent together… and enough painful foot-in-mouth incidents.)

 

He was hovering, and he knew he should probably stop that and leave so he wasn’t taking up room down here. It was going to be okay. They had things under control. But… something was _off_ about Steve. I mean, sure, the guy’s half dead, he’s allowed to not be his usual charming self, but—something about the way he was acting, his responses to the paramedics, was gnawing at Tony, and the fact that he couldn’t pin down _what_ was kinda freaking him out.

 

And then one of the paramedics shifted, giving him a better look at Steve’s face, and he abruptly realized what it was. He’d had an up-close-and-personal look at just how badly Steve was feeling for the last… however long it’d been. It hadn’t even occurred to him that that might have been a _choice_ —a gesture of trust, however unconscious—until that moment.

 

But now, seeing that classic “Everything’s going to be okay here” mask firmly back in place, Steve’s expression and voice under tight control…. Who knew Cap actually trusted him? Well, sure, they fought together, watched each other’s backs, worked well as a team now. But Tony of all people knew that there was a sharp distinction between trusting someone to save your life and trusting them enough to let them see the chinks in your armor.

 

It was…nice… but also probably _really, really bad,_ because he had a feeling that was the sort of Friendship Thing that was supposed to be reciprocal and that might take some getting used to.

 

He turned to Natasha, trying to hide how off-balance he was feeling.

 

“Everything good topside?”

 

She flicked him an odd look.

 

“What?” he shrugged. “Steve wanted to know.”

 

“Everyone’s fine. Bruce just de-Hulked—Thor’s with him now. Clint’s making sure transport to SHIELD medical’s set up for the Captain.”

 

“Hear that, Steve?” Tony called out. “Looks like you were the only one clumsy enough to get hurt.”

 

Steve didn’t respond. Maybe he hadn’t heard. He could be forgiven for being a bit distracted at the moment, Tony supposed. He’d just have to remember to tell him again later.

 

Then there was rapid movement from the paramedics—they had cut enough of the rebar to move Steve, leaving the piece still in him to remove once they got to the hospital, and were preparing to shift him to a stretcher. 

Tony grimaced and turned to move away. They’d be bringing Steve out soon, and he’d only be in the way, and—okay, maybe it was cowardly and selfish not to want to stick around and see any more, but it wasn’t like having a bigger audience was going to help Steve, and other, more capable people were responsible for making sure he didn’t bleed out now.

 

Even with his back turned, he could hear Steve gasp, and then growl something from between clenched teeth as he was moved, though he couldn’t quite make out what—wait.

 

“Did he just—”

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. “He said ‘This sucks.’”

 

He couldn’t help it. If the others thought that laughing so hard he literally fell down was an inappropriate reaction…. Well, maybe they’d just chalk it up to a shocky post-adrenaline collapse.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Heh, this one was remarkably difficult for me to actually finish for some reason - I got a good way into it quite some time ago, and then kind of lost track of the plot partway through and had a hard time getting going again. As a result, I feel like it may be rather disjointed, despite my attempts at editing. :P But - I hope it's enjoyable anyhow, even if it's not everything I'd wanted to make it initially!


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